


Dig Me Out

by ninhursag



Series: Possessive Charms [5]
Category: DC's Legends of Tomorrow (TV)
Genre: Dissociation, Gen, Hurt Leonard Snart, Hurt Sara Lance, Hurt/Comfort, Multi, Pre-Relationship, Protective Gideon, Rape Aftermath, Self-Hatred, Timey-Wimey, Trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-31
Updated: 2019-05-31
Packaged: 2020-03-30 20:16:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,944
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19034887
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ninhursag/pseuds/ninhursag
Summary: 20 year old Sara Lance and 20 year old Leonard Snart wake up locked in a room together on one of the worst days of their respective lives.A purely self indulgent hurt/comfort fic.This is an au of the already au Possessive Charms stories. It takes place both before and after those stories, depending on the point of view character. You probably could get away with starting here.





	Dig Me Out

**Author's Note:**

> Contains: the immediate aftermath of (off screen) sexual assault.
> 
> Trauma reactions

Leonard woke up disoriented and in agony, curled up on an unfamiliar floor. Not the first time and maybe wouldn't be the last, so he tried to keep still and plan his next move.

Vaguely, over the sticky throb of his head, Leonard could hear the quiet whimpers of a girl trying to stifle sobs. He bit down on his own groan and tried to open his eyes a sliver, figure out where he was. 

A room. Not the one he'd started in but still a cell or something like it.

Mediocre light, not institutional fluorescent. Enough to see the blonde hair of the crying girl curled up in the corner.

Her dress was torn. Visible skin. She was trying to hold it closed, but there wasn't enough of it left to do the job. 

He flinched in real sympathy. Touched his own clothes and was relieved to find them filthy, but intact. Cloth had probably staunched the bleeding. He hoped.

But even the movement made him whimper involuntarily. That was hopefully ok, the girl looked safe enough not to jump if he showed a weakness.

Nausea also came with movement. 

The crying girl looked up. Her eyes were a red rimmed blue and her lower lip was bleeding a little. She was pretty anyway. "You're awake?" She whispered, husky from sobbing. Or screaming.

He made himself shrug and tried to think about sitting up. The literal pain in his ass when he was mostly on his side gave him a preview as to how much that was going to hurt.

"Sure," he mumbled. His throat hurt too. He'd been screaming too. "Do you know where we are?"

She shook her head violently and scrambled over closer to him. Her lashes were wet and she had pretty skin under the tear blotches. Young, probably about his age, but soft. She smelled like salt and blood.

He could see enough skin to tell she was bruised, but not scarred.

He didn't want to think about what he smelled like. What she must think if she thought it through about why he was like this.

"I was on a ship, with my friend and his dad and it went down," she said. "They pulled me out of the water. I was so grateful, I thought they were saving me." She sobbed again, arms wrapping around herself.

He closed his eyes for a moment, frowning. "We're not on a ship now. Ground's not moving," he said softly. "And I was thousands of miles from open water." He grit his teeth and considered how he could get up as easily as possible.

"So you don't know where we are either?" The girl whispered. Soft and hopeless. "How'd you get here? I don't remember."

"Dunno. I was," he looked away. "In a rough situation. Also. I thought-- but then I woke up here. No boats though, like I said."

"You were already here on the ground when I woke up. I was worried you might be dead. That I was in here with a corpse... The blood."

"Head wounds bleed like a motherfuck," he said back. "I'm ok." He forced himself not to nod to keep the nausea away.

She frowned and came closer. "Do you have a concussion? I can check your pupils, I have a certificate in first aid."

He managed to remember she was no threat until she touched his shoulder and then instinct took over. He grabbed her reaching hand hard around the wrist. "Don't touch me, don't you touch me," he hissed out. 

His brain flickered on him, showing a bare, narrow room and a hand reaching for him.

Her whimper broke through that. She was shaking in his grip again and scampered back when he released her. Once the adrenaline faded he wanted to puke all over again from the sudden movement. The look on her face didn't help, shocky and scared. 

Up close the finger shaped bruises on her arms and legs were painfully visible. Obvious what had happened to her.

He barely managed to swallow vomit, painfully aware they'd be stuck with a pile of it if he did puke. That was all they needed.

"I'm sorry," she whispered. "I didn't mean to scare you." She was back to trying to hold her torn clothes-- more like a robe and slip-- shut. And failing. 

His mind faltered again, but didn't lose time at least.

He took a deep breath. Let it out. There was no one here but her and she wasn't a threat, he reminded himself. "You didn't. I'm-- fine." Another breath. "Sorry for grabbing you like that- I- sorry."

He should do something. He had a jacket over his clothes. She didn't. He braced himself for pain again, but he was already semi upright so it wasn't too bad of a shift.

"What are you doing?" She began when he unzipped it but stopped and swallowed when he managed to toss it over to her. "Oh. Um thanks. Thank you. Thank you so much." She put it on with shaking hands, zipping it up over her ruined clothes. "I-- I'm Sara by the way. Sara Lance."

"Leonard," he told her looking away. His shirt was black and long sleeved and hid plenty, but he wanted that coat back the second he gave it away. It wasn't even cold, not like it had been there.

"Do you know, um, what day it is? Our ship went down on, um September 27th."

He frowned and shook his head. Bad move, but he managed to stifle the whimper. "It's January. January 20th. 1992 is going to be a shitty year."

She stared blankly, mouth pursed. "Did you-- you were hit on the head, Leonard? It's 2007."

He blinked. Looked down at himself and his normal looking, unlined hands. "Yeah, I was but, I think I'd notice if I woke up and I were 35," he said.

She shook her head. Paused, as if to gather herself together. "Yeah no. You're not 35. But I'm not 5 either, which is what I'd be in 1992. What I was. In 1992."

Well someone had to be wrong but it didn't matter that much now? More like how they got here and if there was an out. "Ok this isn't going to help. Let's think. What's the last thing you remember?"

She started at him again for a long second and then, out of nowhere, her face just crumbled. Thick, deep, gasping sobs shook out of her. She pulled his coat tighter around her body. "He Ivo-- his crew and they. He… I was so scared. It hurt. I thought they were rescuing me, not not not. It hurt and I couldn't stop him."

Fuck. The crying was awful, like she was being ripped up. Len swallowed and reached out gingerly, to pat her shoulder, helpless to do much else. Just a glancing touch that he managed not to feel. "I'm so sorry, Sara. We're going to get out of this, ok? You can survive this."

She sobbed for a few longer minutes and he found himself holding her hand, still gingerly, forcing himself to relax into it. It was just a hand. Just a girl's hand, a young one. Not a threat. Think of Lisa, who was a lot younger but… Sara was still a kid, it felt like, no matter what had happened to her. The innocent, helpless way she clung back, gripping his palm. Innocent in ways his little sister wasn't.

"How about you?" She asked after her sobs finally finally quieted, still holding his hand, but looser, around the fingertips. "What's the last thing you remember?"

He bit his lip and shrugged. Looked away. "Yeah. Something like... what you do. Also. No boats though, like I said. Just outside Keystone City."

"Oh," she whispered. And she was still holding his hand and he couldn't figure out why. "I'm sorry too, Leonard. Um. Do you think this is a, a human trafficking thing?"

He frowned. "Could be? I don't think it's a mob family operation if that's it." He laughed a little, cynical. "I'm a little more valuable to them as a lock guy. I hope."

Her eyes widened. "You're a lock guy? A criminal? My dad's a cop."

He made a face and rolled his eyes. Awesome, a badge's kid. "So is mine. Was mine, before he got caught stealing. Maybe our dads owe someone money. I hope yours likes you if that's it because I'm shit out of luck."

She spluttered and jerked away from him, finally, after all that, which at least made it easier to think. He pulled his arm back and hugged it to his knees. 

"Dad loves me," she said, indignant, like it was true. "And he'd never take money from the-- the mob or whatever you're suggesting."

"Fine, if you say so. I don't think it's that anyway, your middle of the ocean thing doesn't exactly add up to the mob." Neither did the year 2007 thing, but he had to deal with the possible. Even though none of it added up. He sighed and rubbed his knee. It fucking hurt. Kneeling on the floor while they… no not now. "Where did your boat go down?"

"Mr. Queen-- my friend's dad-- it was his yacht we were on. He said we were in the North China Sea." She frowned. "And you were outside Keystone City?"

"Right," he mumbled. "Dumb county cop shop where they wanted to play a game of smear the queer."

She gasped, like the idea of what he was saying finally penetrated. Or maybe it was the cop part. 

He flushed and looked at the floor. Wondered if that grossed her out, saying it out loud like that, what she'd thought he meant before. If she was thinking how weak he was, how pathetic. How he deserved it for being what he was.

She sounded horrified when she spoke, but not like that. "That's-- I'm sorry. We'll tell my dad, he'll get them." He didn't have to say anything, because he saw the second it hit her that no one was telling her dad anything right now. The blank misery back in her eyes.

"We need a plan," he said when the silence stretched out too long. "If we can figure out where we are," when we are, "we can figure out our options."

Sara nodded and stood up unsteadily with a wince. "Ok, let's try the door."

He bit his lip. Start with the obvious. He really had been hit on the head. Breathed. Ok, he could do this if she could. The screaming pain in his middle wasn't new, he just had to breathe through it. He couldn't stay here which meant he had to get up.

Sara watched him with a frown on her face. Her eyes were clearer, more focused. "How bad are you really hurt?" She asked. "Can I please get a look?"

He swallowed. It hurt to be on his feet, but it was just pain. "I've walked off worse," he said, which was probably true. "I need you not to touch me."

"You look like you're going to fall over," she said, not very gently. "I can't carry you, Leonard."

"No one asked you to, Sara." He shook his head, swallowing the nausea again and stumbled towards the door, ignoring her. He wasn't soft, just because… this. 

The door swung open before he had a chance to reach it. A man, older, but handsome, dark haired and eyed. There was something familiar about him, like a face from the evening news or a magazine. No one you'd know in person. But Sara seemed to.

Sara gasped and raised her hand to her mouth. "Mr. Merlyn?" She asked in disbelief.

Len frowned at her and the man. "Like the tech company? Wait, seriously?"

"He's one of my best friend's dads," Sara said in a confused tone. 

Len didn't get the chance to ask why Sara's friend's tech billionaire dad was here. The man had a look of uncomfortable regret that didn't look promising. "I'm very sorry for this, Sara," he said, actually looking sorry for a moment. "This isn't how it should have happened."

Len didn't need to hear more, spiking adrenaline making walking easier than it should be. "Why don't you back off and be sorry somewhere else, asshole," he drawled, carefully angling his body in front of Sara's.

The man, Merlyn, he smiled faintly and knowingly at him. Whatever he felt for Sara, no regret about this part. Len forced himself to meet the man's eyes. "You're not the cold bastard I've known and hated yet, Snart."

"I have no idea who you are, but she didn't do anything to you. She's just a kid." Len took another step, almost feeling the warmth of her body behind him. She was just a kid, innocent and hurt.

Merlyn laughed. "Really? Going to defend her from me? Think she'd do the same for you?"

"She doesn't need to," Len said. "She's a kid."

"Leonard, it's ok," Sara said, her voice trembling. "Mr. Merlyn, what do you want?" She stepped up closer to him, a hand on his shoulder that made him flinch hard enough to draw a knowing, condescending smile out of Merlyn.

"Future you is a real thorn in my side. She has something my friends and I want. And now I have something she wants." He moved to try to muscle past Len, who recognized it as a feint. If he attacked, he'd get knocked down for his trouble. Guy would go for Sara. Sara was in better shape though. She could run.

He knew where this was going, but the panicked look on Sara's face when he turned was too much. He went for Merlyn anyway, dirty for the back of his knee. One shot if that.

It was a quick fight, but he got in a hit and then managed to cap it off by finally puking all over the fucker's clothes, acid and vomit, blood in it. There was a look of pure annoyance and disgust.

That made him smile, even sprawled out on the floor where he'd been shoved, "better watch out or I'll throw up on you some more."

Len smiled wider when he realized that Sara wasn't in the room. Dumb bastard had left the door open.

Merlyn's face was still a mask of annoyance, but he said, "don't look so proud of yourself, Snart, she won't go far. But for now, I guess we find out if you're worth anything to them on your own."

He grabbed Len by the collar of his shirt and Len barely managed to suppress a scream when it peeled away from the dried blood on his skin and the wounds underneath. Black hid a lot.

Merlyn's nose wrinkled. "Jesus. Someone really made a mess of you."

Someone-- them, those cops-- the memory he kept pushing away suddenly asserting itself violently with a smiling guy looming over him.

Len would have said something, but his vision swam and his skin crawled when Merlyn put hands on him to drag him up bodily. He tried to get away from the grip but he wasn't really there anymore. Felt like jelly, distance. Everything so far away. 

Sorry Lisa, sorry Mick. Sorry if I don't get home, but you probably don't want this mess anyway.

He heard himself yelling something that was probably, "don't don't don't stop it. Don't touch me." His hands weren't cuffed but his body was weak, broken, easily dragged along. 

And from very far away, a new voice, "Hmmm… we found the perfect moment in the timeline to grab him from. Just look at him. The creature must be licking its chops."

He lost time, probably just minutes, but then he was face first on the ground and there were voices talking behind him. 

He could smell himself, fresh blood and vomit and stale sex stink that made him want to pull his skin off. No girl to keep it together for and he just wanted to try, see how much he could get off with his nails. 

But he wasn't alone. Couldn't lose it. Couldn't let them see how close he was to losing it.

"Distasteful, even if it just Snart, are you sure-"

"The time aberration will get the Legends' attention and they'll come dashing in to save him."

"But him? After what he did with the Legion?"

His vision steadied a little and he was… in a chalk circle. What?

"Oh just look at him, he positively reeks of vulnerability, they're probably desperate to save him. And if they don't come, we still have young Lance to draw them out."

Chalk circle, symbols, like something in a book? Creature? 

Something hissed. It didn't sound human. 

He couldn't see anything but Merlyn and the man he was talking to, white haired and smug looking. A chalk circle.

He'd read this book before and it didn't end well for the poor fucker in the circle.

Something hissed. And it laughed. And he could feel it's breathe on his skin.

"What's it going to do, Darhk?" Merlyn asked, like it was academic. "If it kills him, there will be knock on effects on the timeline."

"It's an incubus, so probably the obvious. He smells like blood in the water right now."

He could feel breathe on his skin and a hand on his wrist. The sound he made was disgusting, a low, miserable whine he hated himself for, but couldn't stop making. 

Someone was still talking, from far away. Like none of this mattered. "Well you don't need to look if you're that squeamish, I told you I won't let it kill him."

And then the door burst open. Len was too distracted to look up, probably another one of them. The thing he couldn't see but can feel was pushing him down. It was cold, bone deep cold and he couldn't seem to get away.

"Get it away from him! Get him out of there!" That was Sara's voice and he wanted to scream at her that she was supposed to get away. Not be here.

But when he looked up, she had people with her. A cheerful, handsome guy in a suit that looked like high tech armor out of a comic book and a messy looking guy in a rumpled trenchcoat. 

Handsome went for Merlyn and Darhk. It was all a lot to concentrate on.

Trenchcoat guy raised his hands and started toward him, mumbling something in what might have been Latin. The touching stopped.

Len stared at him. 

"It's alright, love," trenchcoat guy said, in a British accent, and with the careful gentleness you'd use on a feral cat. "You're alright. I've banished it."

He walked forward, still muttering in Latin at something. He kicked at the chalk circle and threw some powder at it. It smoked.

"This is not happening," Len told him, firmly. "I hit my head. I am having a really fucked up hallucination." That would actually explain all of this.

The man smiled. "Hold that thought, love," he said. "But for now, let's pretend it's real and get you out of here, shall we?" He knelt down next to Len, who was still laying sprawled out where he'd been dumped. "Now can you please look at me, I need to check you for possession?" 

"This is not happening. And don't you fucking touch me," Len spat out.

Sara stumbled over to them and he let her. "No, he's ok, Len. These guys are rescuing us."

Now that was unbelievable.

She still looked disheveled, with his coat around her, but her eyes were gleaming. Less panic. She knelt down beside him.

Handsome in the comic book suit seemed to have done something to the other guys. Bad guys. There was a blast of something and the ground shook.

Sara reached for his hand, which he ducked.

"Don't touch him, Sara, if the demon is inside him contact could trigger a transfer to you," Trenchcoat said seriously. "You're also at risk for a possession."

Len shook his head. "Do you know these people, Sara, because I don't? And no one is touching me."

"We're going to have to, you don't want a demon in you. That's likely what they were counting on. Raymond," Trenchcoat yelled at handsome. Who was apparently done chasing people away, since there was no sign of Merlyn or Darhk. "We're going to have to carry him out of here."

"How come he can touch him?" Sara demanded. "Isn't he at risk of possession?"

Trenchcoat shrugged like that was a fair point. "I shouldn't think so, but it's a fair question. Ray when is the last time you were raped? Or raped someone else?"

Handsome looked baffled and the turned a funny shade of red. "I haven't been? I would never!" He said. "What kind of fair question is that?"

"There you go, unless he's lying, no risk whatsoever of possession from this particular demon at least."

"Yeah, but," handsome, Ray, whatever his name was, looked back at Len and then at Sara. "How would it possess-- Oh. Jesus. Oh ok. Oh man I'm so sorry."

Len felt his own skin coloring and muttered. "Just get away from me. I'm not-- stop." He didn't ask why no one jumped to the raped someone else conclusion instead. It was probably obvious. Every one could probably tell.

Trenchcoat looked less earnest than handsome Ray, but that was just in comparison. "Probably what, within the last two hours, maybe less. You're still bleeding from it aren't you, Love?"

"Stop talking about that and don't call me love, asshole," Len muttered. He squeezed his eyes shut. 

There were still people talking over him, about him. Sara's voice, sharp and scared. Ray's horror. Trenchcoat's insistence. And he was still fucking bleeding. That was true.

"Someone get Rory," trenchcoat said and that got Len's drifting attention.

"We agreed it would be a bad idea for the timeline," handsome Ray began. 

"It's a bad idea for the timeline for Captain Cold to be possessed by an incubus at age 20. Get Rory in here now, we need him to trust us."

Nothing made sense. Rory? Like Mick? Captain what? Well that part was cute. He did feel cold.

"The bald guy with the flamethrower?" Sara asked incredulously. "What's he going to do? We need to get out of here."

But then he stomped in and it wasn't Mick, the one he'd left at home, but it was him too. A lot older. Len opened his eyes and stared at him. Fireman's pants, gloves and a lined, scarred face. He looked as shocked as Len felt.

"Jesus," Mick rumbled and rubbed his forehead. "Look at you, Snart. What the hell happened to him, Englishman?" He glared at trenchcoat guy who was still kneeling down next to Len. 

"Are you really Mick?" Len said before trenchcoat could start talking. But he knew it was. He could feel himself relax just an iota. If he died Mick could take care of Lisa. Mick could help.

"Yeah, boss. The 2018 version." Mick looked calmer than his Mick would he thought. Tireder. "You're the… what 90-"

"92. I don't want anyone else to touch me." Len swallowed. Willed Mick not to ask, not to get… grossed out.

"Won't let em. C'mon." Mick took his hand and Len squeezed it back still staring. So surreal. The calm.

"We need to check for the--" Trenchcoat began and Mick growled at him.

"Right. See the thing is, the Englishman thinks you might be possessed by an inkblot and wants to get it out of you and kill it if you are."

Len frowned. "A what now?"

"A sex demon." Mick repeated.

"Oh. An incubus. He said that to me too. Why? Don't you think I'd notice?"

Trenchcoat sighed. "You're in no condition to notice, Leonard, you'd be having very similar feelings in your current state regardless."

So Len sighed and looked at him. The compassion in Trenchcoat's expression was tempered by excitement. This demon crap was fun for him. He wanted to do his exorcism whatever. And that made it easier in a weird way, at least someone was enjoying this.

"Ok," he said, still squeezing old Mick's hand. It felt grounding, cut through the pain. "So, in the future, there's time travel and demons. And I'm called Captain Cold?"

"That does sound pretty cool when you put it that way. All of this beats dying on a freighter full of crazy people too," Sara next to him said and smiled at him. She reached for his other hand.

Trenchcoat interrupted her sharply, "Sara, don't touch him. Remember, it can transfer to you. One exorcism is enough for a day."

Mick picked him up. It hurt but he didn't scream, managed to contain the whimper. Mick made a surprised grunt and said, "my hands are wet, is your back bleeding?"

And Len nodded his head sharply against Mick's shoulder. "I think I'm maybe going to throw up again," he warned. 

A shrug and a, "gotcha. Don't worry about it."

Len nodded but tried to choke it back anyway. Probably be all acid if it came out. Mick sighed and rubbed his back while they walked, like they weren't surrounded by other people.

So he got to see a timeship, carried across the fucking threshold like it was his wedding day. Totally ridiculous but not horrible.

He made it to a trash can to throw up in.

He didn't remember much about the exorcism. The impression of someone yelling at him. Trenchcoat, whose name was Constantine, waving around a book and some smelly herbs and the overwhelming desire to pick his pocket.

A dark, blank place, with a voice that sounded a lot like his father's, telling him calmly what he already knew. 

'You deserved this, Leo. They think you're a victim but you're not. You deserve everything you got and more. You deserve hell for what you did.'

And it was all true, every word, but it didn't matter, because he was responsible to Lisa. And he might be nothing, he might deserve this and worse, but she didn't. And if he wasn't there, no one would be to make sure she wasn't hurt. That she wasn't the one bleeding on the ground.

'I won't be the first to get better than I deserve,' he told the voice, his father's voice. 'To take better than I deserve. You did.'

And then it told him, in that same voice, that it was going to tell them-- tell everyone-- everything he did, why he deserved exactly what he got.

And he nodded and opened his eyes, back in charge of his own demon free body and waited for them to tell him to get out. Earnest Ray and Constantine and Sara, who'd acted like he deserved saving. At least Sara wasn't there, dubbed a possession risk and hustled off to medbay instead. But she'd find out.

Mick. Mick didn't know. But he'd find out.

They were looking at him. Constantine kneeling in front of him, smiling, still earnest as hell. "You're strong, love," Constantine told him. "You're so unbelievably strong. It never stood a chance against you."

And Ray looked like he'd been crying. And Mick looked like-- he didn't know 

And Len figured it telling had been a lie, so he rolled his eyes and wrapped his arms around his stomach and said, "are you hitting on me? Because, you're not my type."

"I'm admiring you," Constantine said easily.

"It didn't tell you, then?" Len asked.

"Tell us what, sweetheart?" So fucking gentle he needed punching.

"No matter how many times you call me that, I'm still not fucking you," he said instead of a physical punch.

Constantine sighed.

 

Mick introduced him to the ship's AI in the medbay. "Gideon will fix you up."

Gideon turned out to be among the cooler things of a day that couldn't get much worse without death or maiming. 

Of course she was also a nag when he expressed some dubious thoughts about being fixed up by a robot.

Apparently AIs in the future got annoyed.

"Mr. Snart, you have experienced a particularly violent assault. The risk of infection will become increasingly pronounced as time passes so I advise you allow me to treat you now."

He rolled his eyes and stared dubiously at the pallet she wanted him to sit on, with gizmos attached. "Ok, so give me antibiotics. And what about Sara, shouldn't you be helping her?"

Gideon sighed. "I have already seen to Miss Lance. Her younger self is significantly more cooperative with treatment. She was also much less severely injured than you."

Len made a face at the screen. "But she's ok?"

"Yes, Mr. Snart. As will you be, if you allow me to treat you."

He shrugged, which still hurt. Made another face and then looked down at his feet. "Will you know if I'm sick?"

Gideon said, "I'm afraid I don't understand."

He sucked in his lower lip. "If they gave me-- If I have, it. AIDs. Or I dunno, the clap or something."

"Ah," Gideon said. "Yes. I can cure any sexually transmitted diseases common to your century. You need not be concerned."

He breathed out. "Ok. Um Can anyone see me? Will they know what you treated me for?" They did know, but not the details. Not the… he didn't want people to see.

"No, Mr. Snart. I am programmed to protect your privacy in this matter to my utmost ability."

He frowned, tapping his fingers a little. "How do I know that's really true?"

"I am not certain how to reassure you in a way that would convince you. Nonetheless, if I am able, both you and your information will be kept safe."

He closed his eyes. Felt his hands at his sides. Felt the pain in his body, so hard to fight past. If he could get through that? "Ok," he said. "I guess I have to accept that. What do I do?"

And she- it- told him where to sit. And she did something to him. And it was warm and it didn't hurt. And for the first time in what felt like weeks but was probably hours, the pain went away. Slow at first and then quickly, knitting skin and bruises and head and ribs.

And he hadn't really processed how much it had hurt until it just stopped. Not the fuzziness of pain meds. Real healing, like she wasn't just fixing today, but last week's run in with Dad that had lead up to today, and the road rash from falling off his bike a few days ago.

And then he found himself pain free but pathetic, shaking and sobbing on the stupidly comfortable pallet in this fucking timeship, every bone in him feeling like it must still hurt even though it had actually all been fixed and there was nothing wrong. And the only good part was there was no one here to see him break. No one to see him whine like something cheap and easy, disgusting with a face full of snot and tears.

Like he could pretend he didn't want to rip his skin off and know he couldn't because Lisa needed his skin on.

The computer, Gideon, was silent for a while and then, weirdly she started to hum a song. He started as he recognized the opening bars of a lullaby. An old one, that his mother used to sing. Or maybe someone else's mother in a movie he'd seen.

A mother thing.

It felt weird. 

He didn't ask her to stop. And she showed him where to wash up afterwards, and gave him clean, not blood soaked clothes, which was nice.

Sara was waiting for him, sitting on the ground with a deck of cards and a hopeful expression. She was still wearing the coat he'd given her, but with clean clothes underneath.

"Hey," she said, "Mick told me you liked to play."

Len shrugged. "I count cards if I'm losing."

Sara rolled her eyes. "Figures."

He didn't lose. 

Mick invited them to take his bed. "Figured you can share," he told them. "You do it enough, later."

He didn't say where he was sleeping. "With older us," Sara said laughing and Len shrugged. It was hard to picture. 

"I can take the floor," he offered automatically when Mick's room only had the one obvious bed. 

Sara rolled her eyes and patted the bed next to her. "Someday, I'm going to be over this. And so will you. And then we'll worry about sharing beds, not now."

So that's how Len woke up in a warm bed that smelled faintly of smoke and lighter fluid. Sara was curled up next to him, only strands of yellow hair visible from under the covers. It took him a moment to see the lump of her was shaking. She was crying, that was what woke him up.

"Sara," he whispered. "It's ok. You're safe." He reached out carefully and put his hand over the blanket lump. She shuddered.

"I have to go back there," she said, voice muffled. "They have to make me forget and put me back there."

He swallowed. He'd known he was going back. He had to. Lisa. And he knew he was going to survive this. But her? She was just a kid, even knowing she would live through it... "No. We'll figure it out. There's got to be another way."

"There isn't," she sobbed. "I deserve this, you know. I was a fucking cheating little-- I got on a boat to have a sex trip with my sister's boyfriend. That's what I was doing there. If I hadn't been so stupid, none of this would have happened."

Len just shook his head and gently, methodically, kept petting her shoulder. "The punishment for being a dumbass kid isn't near death and rape," he muttered.

"You think you deserved it," she said and he stopped petting abruptly and stared at her. Wondered if he'd said it out loud or she guessed, or if Gideon had lied and told them. He couldn't really remember.

Sara's eyes were a red rimmed blue when she peeked out from under the blanket. "Don't lie and say you don't think that, Len."

"I hurt people," he said, instead. And he couldn't say anything else other than, "And I don't care."

"Liar," she said.

"Yeah. I am. I'm also not going to get into a competition with you about who's a worse person. It's pointless."

She smiled a little at that, face still a puffy red. "True," she mumbled.

"If you want me to help you make a break for it, I will," he promised. "I'm a lot more useful now that I'm not passing out or puking on everything."

"Thanks," she said and sighed and scootched up closer, so she was almost leaning against him. 

"I'd promise to show up and warn you in 2007 before you get in that boat, but I have the strong feeling we won't remember enough to do that." Mick had all but told him that would be the case.

"I can't warn you in 1992 even if I do remember," Sara grumbled. "I can't do anything."

"Right now, you can get some rest. And remember, you live through it." And that felt like an impossible idea. But he knew it happened. "We both do."

She didn't let go of his hand.


End file.
